Acclimation
by Gryvon
Summary: Eames/Arthur. Arthur first meets Eames on a job in Mumbai. Cobb had worked with both of them previously, but never together and Arthur finds the uncertainty of this new element on their team unsettling.
1. Deception

He first meets Eames on a job in Mumbai. Cobb had worked with both of them previously, but never together and Arthur finds the uncertainty of this new element on their team unsettling. He finds Eames unsettling, from the first moment they set eyes on each other and Eames turns to Cobb and says "You didn't tell me he was handsome" in that thick accented voice that does strange things to Arthur's insides.

Arthur is straight by default and for a very, very brief second he questions that default setting. But there's a job to do and he barely knows Eames at that point, so he ignores the comment and gets straight to business outlining their plan. It's that first initial exchange that would define the course of their relationship, or lack thereof, for years to come.

The job itself is simple. They have a mark, a security guard who had the misfortune of attracting the attention of some very wealthy people with cash to burn who want into the building he was guarding. The man had numerous vices, numerous ways that they could use him to reveal information. He was a gambler, a drunkard, a womanizer, and a hedonist. Arthur detailed the approach. They would use a bar setup, make him think that he was drinking the night away, and get him to confide in the bartender. Arthur had mapped out the bar, Cobb would build it, and Eames would play the bartender.

"I've got a better idea, darling." Eames was looking right at him as the endearment slipped his lips. Arthur bristled. "You," his finger poked against Arthur's chest, "play the bartender, and I'll", the finger pulled away, leaving a searing point of warmth that didn't want to fade, "get the information an easier way."

"There isn't an easier way." Arthur regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth. Eames was baiting him, and they both knew it.

Eames smirked. "There is, but we'll let that be a surprise."

Arthur opened his mouth, but Cobb cut him off. "Don't worry. Eames can do it." There was a slight quirk at the corner of Cobb's lips. He was getting a kick out of seeing Arthur get his feathers ruffled.

"Fine." Arthur was most definitely not pouting. "But for the record, I'm not responsible if the whole thing goes south."

Cobb and Eames share a knowing look that Arthur doesn't fully understand until they're in the dream. He's slipping back behind the bar after delivering drinks to a couple of patrons sitting at a high table when someone gooses him from behind. Arthur barely stops himself from screeching, lets out a tiny squeak instead and whips around, ready to give Eames a piece of his mind. His mouth hangs open when he comes face-to-face with a gorgeous blonde knock-out in a tight red dress. Arthur's face, he's pretty sure, has turned to match the dress and he finds language completely beyond his reach.

The blonde shifts closer, forcing Arthur back against the bar as she presses against him. She's soft in all the right areas and those areas are uncomfortably tight against him. Her hand strokes the side of his face and he gets an up-close view of her perfectly manicured nails, painted the exact same shade as her dress. She smiles at him with sinfully red lips and starts to lean towards him.

In the span of three quick, nearly-hyperventilating breaths, Arthur realizes three things in quick succession. First, he realizes that this strange woman is attracted to him but all he feels is awkwardness and rising panic and the need to make her step away. Second, they are in Cobb's subconscious so strange women should not be hitting on him and deviating from the plan. Third, he now knows how Eames is planning to get the information.

"E-E-Eames..." He manages to stutter but the rest of the words stick in his throat. Realizing that this knock-out is actually Eames somehow made the situation worse instead of better and he can feel his body responding involuntarily.

She brushes her hand up his cheek, nails dragging lightly across his skin. "Yes, darling?"

He is fairly certain that if his face gets any redder, he's going to burst a blood vessel and kick himself out of the dream. "P-please..." He's really not sure what he's asking for, though going away is at the top of that list, followed closely by coming closer and doing more things with those nails. One day he's going to make fun of Eames for taking crossdressing to a whole new level but that day is not today, not when he can barely choke out one word at a time.

The door opens and Eames pulls away with a pout marring her beautiful features for a brief second before she turns and slips into the crowd. Arthur drags himself behind the bar, suddenly very glad that he's back there and not out mingling because the bar helps hide how very flustered Eames has made him. He forces a smile on his face as Cobb guides the mark over to the bar and makes a very good White Russian. When Eames finally joins them, Arthur looks everywhere but at her and he's certain that Cobb has picked up on it.

Arthur isn't certain if the situation is enough to force him to reevaluate his default sexuality, and instead hopes that this is the last time he'll ever see Eames.


	2. Perception

He runs into Eames again in a dive bar about half a mile from the hotel they're staying at, the night before their third con together. Eames has changed little in the year since he'd first met him – still far more suave than any man has a right to be, still cocky, still capable of getting under Arthur's skin and making him reevaluate all he thought was true. Arthur's seated at a table near the back of the bar, away from most of the crowd. It's hardly quiet, but it's the closest thing to private he can find. He sees Eames walk in, tries to pretend he doesn't notice Eames noticing him, and debates escaping into the bathroom when Eames heads his way. Leaving, however, would mean giving up his table and he's not prepared to do that just yet.

"Really, darling, couldn't you have picked a better establishment? It's like it's your first time in Paris."

Too many responses spring to mind, it's hard to pick just one. He goes with the most pressing, and prioritizes from there. "I told you not to call me that. I didn't ask you to join me, and it is my first time in Paris."

Eames tskes at him, but takes a seat at the opposite end of the table. He produces a pack of cigarettes from the inside pocket of his jacket and meets Arthur's eyes. "Do you mind?"

Arthur hardly sees the harm in a little more smoke added to the already foggy bar. He could say no just to make Eames go away but that would be childish and he's hoping to avoid sinking to that level. "No. It's fine."

He regrets it as soon as Eames pulls his cigarette out. He leaves the pack on the table, puts the butt in his mouth and shields it with one cupped hand as he flicks his lighter. The tip blazes to life. Eames pockets the lighter and smiles, aware that Arthur is staring. He can't help himself. There's an elegance to the way Eames moves that Arthur instantly envies despite knowing he'd never be able to match it himself. He's too gangly, too awkward, to ever make smoking look that good and he hates Eames all the more for adding that to the long list of Arthur's insecurities.

Eames's fingers close around the cigarette, pinning it between the pointer and middle finger of his left hand as he pulls it away. He exhales a small cloud of smoke and leaves his hand resting against the table. Arthur can't help but compare. Eames's hands are larger than his own, though not by much. Thicker, likely stronger, and he's pretty sure he saw calluses underneath. Eames lifts the cigarette. Arthur's eyes follow. He's so distracted that he misses Eames's right hand sliding across the table and gently prying Arthur's left off of his glass.

"Eames..." He's cut off by a smile, far too knowing for Arthur's taste. Eames's hand is warm around Arthur's. His thumb rubs circles in Arthur's palm and all he can do is stare, helpless, at the joining of their hands.

"You have remarkable hands, you know that, dear?" Arthur nearly chokes on air, disturbed at how close Eames's words reflect Arthur's thoughts. "So soft." His thumb trails up along Arthur's index finger and then back down to do more circles around Arthur's palm. The sensation goes straight to Arthur's groin. He blushes, and hopes the darkness hides it. "So gentle. There are a lot of things those hands could do."

Arthur does choke then and pulls his hand away to cover his cough. Eames shoots him an apologetic look and slides Arthur's drink closer to him. The alcohol is barely a match for the fire already stoking inside of Arthur. He folds his hands under the table, out of Eames's reach but that barely helps because he can still feel the warmth of Eames's hand around his own.

"Sensitive, too, I see." Arthur's blush deepens, enough that he's sure it would be impossible for Eames to miss it, but he doesn't deny Eames's observation. He hadn't realized just quite how sensitive until now. It's possible that the only reason he's reacting this way is because it's Eames. He's never had problems with his hands before.

Eames smiles like he's won something and smothers his cigarette in the ashtray between them. It had burned nearly to ash before Eames could take a second drag. Arthur takes that as a sign that he's not the only one affected. Arthur's eyes follow Eames's hands as he taps out another cigarette and lights it. Arthur had never been envious of an inanimate object before, but he envies the way Eames's lips close around the cigarette and the careful way he holds it.

The con cannot be over soon enough. Regardless of whatever default setting he was born with, Arthur has come to the conclusion that he definitely is not straight.


	3. Conception

"You," he hears Eames say from far away, "are a very lucky man."

Arthur can't quite figure out why he's so lucky, not when he's covered in blood, most of it not his own, and his ears are ringing so bad he can hardly hear. He's injured. He's self-aware enough to know that, but not much beyond that. The exact where is eluding him, though it must not be that badly or he'd be with Cobb and... Vincent... Edgar? The other man's name escapes him, but if his injuries were worse then he'd be with them, getting patched up, not... here.

The sound of water running is enough to give him some focus. Bathroom. Not a very good bathroom, or a very clean one. It has a vague motel look, definitely not the one he'd been staying at, likely somewhere in the lower end of Rabat. Eames is in front of him. Somehow, out of all the chaos, Eames is fine, unruffled, not even a scratch on him. Eames had driven him here. Eames had lent Arthur his coat, likely ruined now, to hide the blood as they walked in, with Eames carrying both their bags.

Arthur shivers as his shirt is pulled away. It sticks against parts of his arms and Eames croons softly at him as he pulls it away, pealing it gently off of wounded skin. Arthur barely feels the pain, or the cold. His gaze drifts. He slumps forward and Eames is there to catch him, propping Arthur's head on his shoulder while he unfastens Arthur's belt. Water slowly fills the tub.

Eames stands, taking Arthur reluctantly with him. He leans against Eames, unable to support his weight on his own and at the moment not caring where the support comes from. Eames is warm against his skin, and Arthur feels far too cold.

"Blessed temptation." He can feel Eames's breath against his ear. Arthur's pants drop to the floor, leaving him bare. "You're lucky I'm too much of a gentleman to take advantage of you right now."

The support suddenly disappears, making the world spin. He's being lifted and the next thing he knows, he's shoulder deep in warm water. Arthur closes his eyes in an effort to lessen the wave of dizziness that threatens to drown him. The only sounds in the bathroom are the occasional splash of water as Eames dips a washcloth under the surface and their breathing, one even, one labored.

His head falls against Eames's chest, though he only places it by the sound of rapid beating underneath his cheek. He relaxes against it, tension slowly leaving him after a very long, very harrowing day as Eames washes the blood off of his skin. Eames is gentle and careful, bordering on reverent as he runs the washcloth along each of Arthur's arms in turn, extra careful around the three deep scratches in his arm and shoulder. Grazes, he remembers offhandedly, near misses that could have been bullet holes, could have left him worse than Cobb and their associate.

Arthur starts to doze, somewhere between Eames's hands on his chest and his feet. Any other day, he would have been paying more attention, possibly fascinated by the way Eames's hands move over his skin or horrified by how exposed he was. He's losing the battle against consciousness, fading in and out, but there's something niggling at his mind, something that needs said.

"Eames." His voice cracks on the one word and Eames softly shushes him, urges him not to talk but he needs to. "Thank... you... Wanted to... thank you."

Eames stills for a moment, then runs his hand through Arthur's hair. It had gotten wet somehow, likely washed, and Arthur is only vaguely aware of the horrible wet mess he's made of Eames's shirt. "Any time, darling. Any time."

There are many things Arthur wants to say, feels he should say. That he was wrong about Eames. That he owes Eames his life, because it was his warning that kept Arthur from getting shot. He wants to acknowledge a truce between them, let Eames know that he's ready for a cease in hostilities, that he really appreciates the way Eames is taking care of him.

What comes out instead is "I like your hands."

He hears Eames chuckle but falls asleep before he hears the response.


	4. Reception

Things are different between them after the Rabat job. Arthur had spent the majority of two days passed out with Eames in a run-down motel before Cobb had joined them and they got the hell out of Morocco. He didn't remember much from those two days. Shock and exhaustion, Eames had said. It wasn't the first time Arthur had been shot at, but it was the first time he'd come that close to actually getting shot and the first time an operation had gone that far south. He could have died. They could have all died, except for Eames who seemed to have some magical ability to dodge bullets in the midst of a firefight. They would have been dead without him, and the whole situation had led Arthur to drastically revise his opinion of Eames.

Eames had picked up on Arthur's change of heart without him even saying anything. Or maybe he had said something, in the motel in Rabat, and just didn't remember what he'd said. It was entirely possible. In public, Eames was mostly unchanged. The flirting was turned up a notch, but there wasn't any surprise in that. It was what he said in private that made Arthur's skin flush and his heart race.

In Cairo, two months after the Rabat job, Eames had leaned on the table next to Arthur as Arthur'd been organizing design specs and whispered hot against his ear, "You know, darling, I think you've made an addict out of me, because I can't stop picturing you naked and pliant in that bathtub. We'll have to try it again sometime, only with you conscious." Arthur had turned beet red, his mouth hanging open but no words coming out. Eames had put one finger on his chin and closed it for Arthur. "You'd better keep that shut or I'll take it as an invitation." Eames laughed a little as he drew away and added, "You're cute when you blush." Arthur was pretty sure he'd been red-faced the rest of the day.

In Hamburg, Eames had put his hands on Arthur's hips and described in lurid detail exactly how he could make Arthur scream. Arthur had been very glad for the table that hid his instant erection from view. In Luxemburg, Eames offered to share a hotel room and mentioned that the pillows might suit Arthur's appetite. In Melborne, he'd waited until Cobb left the dinner table to tell Arthur how much he wanted to take Arthur into the bathroom and fuck Arthur until he couldn't walk home. In Sapporo, Arthur had dropped to the floor to pick up a pencil that had rolled under the table. When he'd crawled out, Eames had stolen Arthur's chair and remarked how good Arthur looked on his knees.

In Hong Kong, Arthur had managed to avoid Eames for much of the pre-mission planning. He was scouting a night club, taking notes so that Cobb could mimic it as much as possible, noting entrances and exits. He'd slipped out the back to get some fresh air and nearly had a heart attack as he realizes he isn't alone. His initial 'oh shit' reaction shifts in tone once he recognizes the stranger as Eames, first from the smell of his cigarettes, then by his cologne as gust of wind brought the faint scent towards him, and finally by sight as he joins Arthur under the light by the rear entrance.

"You really shouldn't be out alone, darling," Eames says as he walks up. "The streets are dangerous for pretty boys like you." There's an edge to Eames's tone that makes Arthur instantly take notice.

"I can handle myself." That was a lie. He was crap at fighting in real life, not when death meant never waking up.

Eames drops his cigarette and grinds it out beneath his shoe. "I'm sure you can, darling." There's a slight leer on Eames's face, giving a double meaning to the words. "But I'd much rather be handling you."

Arthur smirks slightly, outwardly more cocky than he feels. He's starting to get used to Eames constantly hitting on him. It was becoming a usual part of extractions. "That's assuming I'd let you handle me."

In the space of a heartbeat, Eames is in front of him, grabbing Arthur's arms and pinning them over his head against the dirty brick wall. Part of Arthur is concerned for his suit and the damage being done to it by the wall, but the bigger part of him is focused on exactly how turned on Eames pinning him was making him.

Eames leans forward, lips stopping centimeters short of brushing against Arthur's cheek. "We both know exactly how much you want me to handle you."

"E-Eames." The name comes out like a plea. Arthur pauses, licks his lips. Eames's eyes follow the motion of Arthur's tongue intently and Arthur realizes how delicate the line between them has become. They'd been playing cat and mouse for months and he hadn't realized quite how wound up Eames was until now.

"Do you know what you do to me, darling?" Eames asks, his voice thick and heavy. "Do you have any idea how badly I want you?"

Arthur trembles, not from the cold. Eames notices and pushes tighter against him until there is hardly any room left between Eames's body, Arthur's, and the wall. He moans softly. He'd never been with a man and the prospect of giving in to Eames is both exciting and terrifying. They were on the brink. Arthur could feel it, this huge chasm of potential expanding out beneath him, and all he needed to do was let go. He counted the things holding him back – pride, inexperience, fear, propriety, lack of self-confidence, ego, stubbornness. None of them seemed like particularly good reasons to deny himself what he wanted, not when Eames wanted it just as much, if not more.

"I know," Arthur said slowly, speaking as clearly as he could when he barely has space to breathe without his chest rubbing against Eames's. "So. Why don't you do something about it?"

Eames's lips are on his seconds after he finishes the sentence. Arthur isn't an expert on kissing, but he thinks Eames is and all of that expert knowledge is trained on him as soon as their lips meet. Eames's tongue does delightfully wicked things to the roof of Arthur's mouth. Arthur barely registers his hands being freed, not until Eames grabs him by the ass and lifts him up, pulling their hips closer, and for a second he wonders if Eames is really an octopus with the way extra hands seem to sprout from nowhere before his mind catches up. Arthur lowers his arms and wraps them around Eames's shoulders. He's messing up the fabric of Eames's jacket horribly and his own clothes were likely ruined from the wall, but he couldn't really bring himself to care.

When Eames finally pulls away, enough at least for Arthur to breathe and at that point he really, really needs the oxygen, there's a heat in Eames's eyes that goes all the way to the pit of Arthur's stomach.

"I want to fuck you," Eames says in a voice breathless and full of desire. "I want to rip off your clothes, get your ass in the air, and fuck you until you forget how to speak, until the wittiest comeback you can think of is screaming my name into the pillow as I make you come."

Arthur whimpers and tightens his hands in Eames's jacket.

Eames doesn't stop. His lips trace over the exposed skin of Arthur's neck, leaving a trail of dirty words in their wake. "I want to pull your pants down and fuck you, right here. I want to push inside of you, fill you up and pound into you, hard enough to leave bruises, hard enough that you won't be able to sit down tomorrow without remembering the feel of me inside of you."

The accent makes it worse, Arthur thinks. It makes the dirty words sound even more sinful, and Arthur has no doubt that Eames would do all that if he let him. But the alley is far too filthy, far too public, and as much as Arthur really, really wants Eames right now, it's not enough for him to get over where they are.

"You, me, hotel, now," Arthur gasps out. He's past the point of sentences, past the point of caring about anything but getting Eames to go through with all the things he's been promising to do to Arthur for months. "Make me scream."

Eames smiles like he always does after they execute a particularly intricate con, half pleasure, half smug satisfaction. "You, my darling, are absolute sin on a platter."

Arthur has no idea what to say to that so he pulls away and straightens his clothes as best he can, glad that his coat is long enough to hide the bulge in the front of his pants. Eames adjusts his jacket and tucks Arthur's hand under his arm as he leads them out of the alleyway.

"You do realize, of course," Eames says as they step out onto the main street, "that this is just going to make me more incorrigible."

Arthur smiles and pretends people aren't giving them strange looks. "I think I can handle that."


	5. Susception

It's a nice change for Arthur to not have to worry about where his next paycheck is coming from and who's trying to kill him. Cobb is back in America, with his kids. Saitou has offered him a room in a private hotel in Kyoto and Arthur isn't one to turn down free luxury, especially if there's the chance for solitude with it. He's impressed by the space between rooms on his floor. His room is at the far end of the hall, which means he won't have to worry about noises from people coming and going from their rooms. He opens the door and stops in surprise as Eames smiles at him from across the room.

For a moment, he wonders if Eames followed him but it's reasonable to assume that if Saitou offered him a room, then he also offered Eames one as well. Arthur steps outside and triple checks the room number. It's right. His key opened the door, and as much as Eames would want to, he isn't the type to break into Arthur's room. Suddenly Arthur realizes just how much Saitou had picked up on when he'd been working with their team. His face turns beet red, which only makes Eames smile wider.

"I take back any nice thing I ever said about Saitou," Arthur grumbles as he drops his suitcase by the door.

"You don't mean that, pet." Eames slides the drawer shut and crosses the room to slide Arthur's coat off and hang it in the closet, next to Eames's.

"I might." He's not quite ready to get over the feeling of betrayal, though he's not really mad at Saitou. More flustered, especially when his eyes fix on the large four-post bed, the only bed in their suite. More details filter in and he curses as he realizes that they're in a honeymoon suite – large bed, large tub, mood lighting, roses. That also accounts for the low number of rooms on this floor, and the privacy. He curses twice more for good measure, which only makes Eames laugh more.

"Did you really think it wasn't obvious, darling?" Arthur has yet to take more than three steps into the room but Eames seems at ease, already fully settled in. Arthur debates walking downstairs and asking for a separate room.

"I had hoped, just a little."

Eames pats Arthur on the cheek. "You're so cute when you're naïve." His lips cover Arthur's before he can retort.

His objections slowly melt away with the kiss and he lets himself admit, privately, that maybe sharing a room won't be all that bad. They haven't had much time alone, both before the Inception job and during, but they've got the room for two weeks and there's no job to prep for. Eames pats him on the cheek again as he pulls away and picks up Arthur's suitcase for him. He finds it both endearing and disturbing that Eames knows exactly which drawers to put Arthur's things in.

A sudden thought makes Arthur bolt across the room, but it's too late. Eames is at the bottom of Arthur's suitcase when he pauses. An amused expression crosses his face as he holds up a small plastic purple toy. "Really, darling?"

Arthur's face is as red as the carpet and he debates shooting himself, just to avoid the humiliation. He looks away. "I... um... didn't realize you were coming too."

He can hear the leer in Eames's voice as he steps closer. "Had I known you'd miss me so badly, I would have caught the same flight."

He's red, really red, and all sorts of angry retorts stick in his throat, giving Eames enough time to pull Arthur against him.

"Did you miss me that much?"

He's still got that damn toy in his hand and Arthur finds his gaze fixed on it. "Will you put that away?" He snaps.

Eames kisses him once on the cheek and then pulls away. He sets the toy on the bedside table.

"That's not what I-"

The rest of the sentence is cut off with a surprised meep as Eames sweeps Arthur off of his feet and deposits him on the bed. Eames follows, laying on top of him and pressing Arthur down against the covers. He doesn't really mind. Eames's mouth his hot and wet against his own, eager to push his tongue into Arthur's mouth and devour him whole. His hands are equally eager, making quick work of the buttons of Arthur's shirt and pants, efficiently stripping him bare. Arthur is less experienced in undressing other men and takes longer. His hands fumble. He misses buttons, gets flustered, and in the end, as usual, Eames has to finish the job, flinging his clothes away with little regard for wrinkles or damage. Arthur can't bring himself to care either, not right now.

He's still inexperienced, still new to the whole gay sex experience. They've fucked a few times, not enough, never enough, and somehow Eames always manages to surprise him. He hadn't realized how sensitive his neck was until Eames latched on one day and sucked a dark bruise into his skin. Eames repeats the move now, almost over the exact same spot though the original bruise had faded months ago. Arthur gasps, parts his legs and pulls his knees up, making room for Eames to press down against him, their cocks sliding together with delicious friction.

Something soft wraps around Arthur's wrist and he breaks the kiss to look up as Eames ties one end of his tie around Arthur's wrist. He pulls Arthur's arms over his head and Arthur lets him, breathing a little heavier as the tie loops around the bedpost and his other wrist is restrained. Eames is the only one he'd ever let do this. Eames is the only one he trusts enough to let himself be tied up, to give up control to.

He regrets it as soon as Eames leans away and picks up the toy. "Tell me, darling, does this really satisfy you?"

Arthur blushes but can't bring himself to look away. "N-not really." He has to force the words out over his embarrassment. Eames looks pleased. He presses a button on the base and it starts to buzz. A look of surprise crosses Eames's face.

"You got the size right, but I'm afraid I'll never be able to do that."

Eames sounds serious but Arthur knows he's just teasing. He tests the restraints on his wrist but they're tight enough that it would take some effort to get out.

"I suppose I'll just have to make do." The tone of Eames's voice sets off an alarm in Arthur's brain and he has a brief second to form half a word of protest before Eames presses the vibrator against his entrance.

Arthur jumps and cries out, feet flat against the bed as he arches away from it. Eames presses a hand against Arthur's stomach, holding him down and then repeats the move, pressing the toy lightly against his skin. Arthur can't help the startled gasp that escapes him.

"Tell me, darling, do you still miss me?"

He shakes his head no very quickly and sucks in a large mouthful of air. Eames moves his hand so that the head of the toy makes a circle around his entrance. Arthur bites his lip and shivers.

"Do you think of me when you use this?" Arthur doesn't bother nodding. Eames knows the answer. "Do you scream my name when you come with this inside of you?" Arthur chokes out a sob. That's answer enough from the way Eames is smiling.

Eames pulls the toy upwards, dragging it along the small strip of flesh between Arthur's ass and his balls and Arthur screams as Eames ups the vibration. He can feel it all the way to his teeth. He's pressing against it now, no longer trying to get away, not when it feels so good. There's a litany of obscene noises falling from his lips but he can't help himself. He only realizes Eames is no longer holding him down when two slick fingers press inside of him.

"Eames!" He bucks down against Eames's hand. He's breathing hard, gasping. He doesn't think he's ever been this wound up though he's come close. Eames has that effect on him.

The toy moves up to rub against the underside of his cock. Arthur closes his eyes and tries to breathe but it's really hard. Eames's fingers are moving inside of him, slowly stretching him, opening him up so that Eames can fit inside and the thought of that alone is almost enough to get Arthur to come. Then the toy passes over the head of Arthur's cock and he screams, nearly does come.

"Eames, please." He's not above begging, not when Eames has teased him this close to coming this quickly. It's going to be over too soon, and while they do have two weeks here, he wants to start things off on more equal footing. "Pleasepleasepleaseplease." He can barely think, barely breath. It's too much sensation all at once. He twists his hands in the tie. "Fuck me, Eames, please."

"I thought you'd never ask."

The buzzing stops and the toy is gone, though Arthur barely has time to think about that as his legs are lifted, knees hooked over Eames's shoulder. Eames lines up and pushes in with the ease of practice. Arthur can't shut up. His mouth keeps going while Eames builds up a steady rhythm, moving with the kind of force he knows Arthur can take. There will be time for gentleness later, but right now they're both desperate for it. Arthur's goading Eames on with pleas, asking Eames to fuck him harder, faster, deeper. There's no way he's going to be able to walk for a while but he doesn't want to. All he wants is Eames's thick cock inside of him and that's what he's getting.

Arthur opens his eyes. Eames is watching him, his eyes intent on Arthur's face, taking in his expression. He knows it turns Eames on knowing how much he's affecting Arthur, how deeply he can get under Arthur's skin and Arthur doesn't hold back. He lays himself bare before Eames and tells him in no uncertain terms exactly how much he likes what Eames is doing to him, how much better Eames is than the toy, which Arthur had only really bought a few jobs ago because he missed Eames and needed something to take the edge off so he could focus. It only makes Eames buck into him harder. His hands are tight on Arthur's hips, tight enough that they'll leave bruises there, but Arthur counts bruises like good dreams, something to enjoy and hold onto.

He almost regrets it when he comes. It's always too soon, but he's sure Eames will make up for it later. Arthur screams Eames's name and grabs the tie so tight his knuckles turn white. A few more pounding thrusts and Eames comes with him. Their bodies slowly still. It takes longer for their breathing to slow down, though even then it sounds far too loud to Arthur. His wrists are freed and Eames rubs them, one at a time, until they stop stinging.

Eames grins down at him and runs his hand along Arthur's cheek. "Better than the toy?"

Arthur pulls Eames down into a kiss in lieu of an answer.


End file.
